


...You Get The Horns

by Dichotomous_Dragon



Series: Prowess [4]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: BAMF!Dorian, Badass!Dorian, Building up to Adoribull, Friendship, Magical fight scene, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-23
Updated: 2015-02-26
Packaged: 2018-03-14 17:00:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3418502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dichotomous_Dragon/pseuds/Dichotomous_Dragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A routine excursion goes south when bad intel leads the Herald and friends into a rebel mage ambush.  Split up, Bull gets overwhelmed by mages...and is saved by one as well.  In a rather spectacular fashion, frankly.</p>
<p>Or, Dorian is a badass and will verily prove it, <em>thank you</em>.<br/>----<br/>For a DAKM prompt: Dorian has learned a lot from his travels and has many natural talents, some that people people expect from a Tevinter mage and some that they never expected. It is not hard to see, if one has eyes, why the Altus is so confident...he has every reason to be. Physical specimen? Naturally. Gifted mage? Of course, but that is hardly the extent of his skill set.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [venatori](https://archiveofourown.org/users/venatori/gifts).



> I am WAY prouder of this title than I have a right to be xD **is dork**
> 
> This prompt is my never-ending-outlet for reasons to write MORE AND MORE about Dorian.

"Big bad Qunari isn't so scary after all," the rebel mage was young, cocksure, and badly needed the smug smirk wiped off of his mousy face. The Bull wanted to tell him so, too. Sadly that was impossible at the moment, given that he was barely able to draw in enough air to stay _lucid_ , let alone mouth off.

The spell was a less impressive version of the lightning cage he'd seen Dorian use, he was sure of it. Purple light crackled around his form like an overlarge constrictor, pinning The Bull to the ground and his weapon out of reach. Every muscle was locked tight. This was one of the rare times it sucked to have a chest bigger than an ale cask: when it was clenched because of electricity all that glorious muscle made it damn hard for one's lungs to function. There were five mages total; two pumping magic into the casting, two playing lookout on opposite sides of the pass, and one running at the mouth.

All in all, it was a stupid mistake and a shitty ambush. Bull had scouted ahead, leaving Dorian, Evelyn, and Cole bringing up the rear through the pass. They'd _thought_ the area clear, per Leliana's scouts, though sometime between the crow and their actual trip the mages had moved in and gotten the jump on them. For all that they were just a band of rogue mages and sellswords they'd been smart enough to split the muscle from the others and eventually had managed to overwhelm him with firepower. Not before he'd crushed four of the squishy bastards, though. Distantly, the sounds of more fighting were still audible. _Good._ Trevelyan was a spitfire in her own right, and she had the 'Vint and the kid with her too. The boss would be fine. 

"So, what should we do with you, savage?" Inwardly Bull groaned; outwardly he just glared. Mouthy mage lifted a hand, forming a spear of ice from nothing. "Originally I was thinking we should keep you as leverage against your friends, but I doubt it's necessary. Besides--" one flick of the wrist and the makeshift polearm embedded itself in Bull's shoulder. He snarled in pain as the mage went on, '--I doubt anyone would waste resources bargaining for something like _you_." With an evil little chuckle from his tormentor the Qunari felt the wedge of ice sink deeper, digging into the bone of his shoulder blade.

Lucky for him, they got interrupted. A shout from one of the lookouts served as the preamble to what Bull would later admit was a hell of an entrance. Screams rang in the clearing, a chorus of cringing fear as the mage standing watch was grabbed. Gnarled hands, bones twisted and white, erupted from the ground and dragged the woman downward as she shrieked, clawing and terrified. Black fire torched her form as she seemed to sink into the grass. Her staff fell from her hands as the light of her barrier flickered out, as pointless as a candleflame in the face of a gale-force wind. Where she had stood there was only a scorch mark. 

The aforementioned was hardly noticed by the stylish boot that passed over it, carrying a new enemy into the rebels' trap. Two male mages, and elf and a giant of a human, attacked the newcomer with bursts of fire from their staves, crackling filling the air as the echoes of the unfortunate woman's screams faded to nothing. Bull could just barely see from his position on the ground but even he was a bit taken aback.

 

Dorian's face was neither angry nor gloating, lacking its usual effortless charm. Concentration (or something darker, perhaps) had schooled his eyes into narrowed slits and his full lips into what looked like a disapproving frown. The expression was more calm than anything, despite his gray-green eyes being near black in anger; his gait was relaxed, measured, but that was where the collected visage ended. Violet lightning rippled down Dorian's arms and around his staff, crackling and coursing. Barely restrained. The bolts twined around his torso and naked shoulder, making the buckles glint. Line after line of power ringed the mage; the mana surging around him looked like a sect of serpents, coiling and eager and ready to strike. 

The attacking mages' fireballs dissipated before a sweep of one ringed hand, the reverse gesture of which glittered with a flame of its own. Magical fire lashed as those long fingers curled upward and two pillars of flame--white hot, not red--lit at the two men's feet and instantly leapt higher than their heads. Dorian's left hand rose to chest height as the screams returned, violent and loud. Once his hand reached shoulder height Dorian's fingers curled in, one by one, to nestle into his palm as his staff slammed to earth; bolts struck the prisoners within the columns of flame in time with the gesture. A conductor's conclusion and again the screams stopped abruptly as flame ebbed. The Tevinter looked almost bored.

"Stop right there!" Mouthy appeared to have gotten his head out of his ass and Bull realized it as the ice wedged into his flesh drug three inches towards his hip. It felt like someone was trying to carve him like a damn roast. He choked, body still locked down by electricity. The two remaining mages--Mouthy and the one keeping Bull pinned--fell into place shoulder to shoulder, the former of which holding a small collection of sharp, icy projectiles hovering over the downed Qunari's prone form. "If you value the life of your plaything, you will stop your advance."

"Shall I, now." 

"Yes," Mouthy growled, the art of rhetoric lost on him. "Unless you want the beast returned to you full of holes." The Altus's disgust was palpable by this point, but he obeyed. Dorian slid his staff into its sheath on his back and folded his arms neatly across his chest. Up came that chin as the 'Vint glared down his aquiline nose. Bull loved the cocky posturing Dorian fell back to when pressed: the casual assertion of dominance that came from baring one's throat to an enemy. Very self-certain. _Maybe not the best timing for revelry,_ The Bull mused, but dismissed it. He was a captive audience. Not much else he _could_ do.

Mouthy noticed the submission Dorian's posture and grinned his victory. The rebel clearly overlooked the threat in the blading of his opponent's feet and the irritated flexing of the Tevinter's fingers.

"Cage him." The other mage looked up, startled.

"If I do that I can't keep the Qunari--"

"Yes yes. I've got him. Pen the mage." 

_Oh 'Vint, you clever little shit._ It was good everything hurt so much, it kept the grin off of Bull's face. The younger mage gulped once, audibly, and started the casting to pin Dorian as he had done Bull. The Qunari got his eye on his mage. Grey eyes locked on his own and there was a minuscule nod of his head as Dorian's lips began to move.

Bull felt all the energy drain from his muscles as the lightning cage faded away. It wasn't a breath before a massive skull coalesced directly above him, terror and black emotion rolling off of the conjuration as it loosed an eerie ephemeral growl. The Bull dragged in as much air as he could and rolled as his captors shrieked and backed away. Out of range of the ice spikes, he tried to make it to his knees and failed, momentarily forgotten. _Damn mages._ Every limb shook, weak from over-stimulation and the lack of air, but he had to get his weapon and get up in case the 'Vint needed backup.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dorian is _really_ good at the whole magic thing.
> 
> **jazz hands**  
> \--------------------------------------------------------

He didn't.

Dorian's left arm countered the incomplete lightning spell with one of his own, a burst of electricity that seared Bull's cornea from staring at it. As his left arm moved across his chest and down his right came up, thrust forward with a palm full of still-more lightning that leapt at the other mages like a predator hungry. Mouthy got a barrier up in time and stumbled back, swearing. The casting mage with him was not so lucky. Caught between the terror and his interrupted spell he had no time to block. His robes and skinned blackened as he was burned by the intensity of the Vint's blast; crackling and the smell of ozone overwhelmed the air. By the time he crumpled to the grass he was already gone.

Dorian had his staff out again, advancing on the last remaining mage in the clearing with them. Mouthy hurled fire, one blast after another, spheres of crimson the size of his head. His advancing adversary twirled his staff this way and that, batting the attacks aside. Each burst of flame deflected by one precise spin after another. Mouthy was good, admittedly, but the Altus he was facing was an onslaught barely contained.

"You will not toy with me," the enemy mage faltered, backing away.  
An ankle twisted in a small divot and he stumbled, never taking his eyes from Dorian as he kept backing away. Face bathed in sweat, breath coming in rapid little pants. Bull was finding himself hard-pressed to give a shit, rather enjoying Dorian making Mouthy squirm. He wanted to kill the bastard himself but had only just made it up to one knee. "I will not allow it!"

Dorian’s teeth flashed in an unkind smile.

"I am as contemptuous as I am handsome, unfortunately for you.” Bull’s eye narrowed at the bit of strain he could hear beneath the lofty veneer in his voice but Dorian went on just as lightly: “Also, I am absurdly talented. More so than you can match. Again, rather to your misfortune." A nasty smile bloomed on Mouthy's face and Dorian scowled.

"--Not just mine." Dorian's eyes widened as Mouthy, bedraggled though he was, sneered like a victor and hurled an armful of fire.

Straight at The Iron Bull. 

_...Crap._

Distantly the Qunari heard Dorian’s snarled _“No!”_ but much like any kind of action he could use to save himself, it eluded him in the split-instant he had to think. 

Not for the first time (and likely not the last), Dorian’s quick thinking surged to the rescue. The barrier that flared around him didn't have time to form properly--too rushed--but it saved Bull from the heat and most of the force, catching the blast and splintering into mana shards as it dissipated. Bull was blasted backwards a good ten feet and hit the ground, bouncing once like an overlarge toy cast aside. His back cracked against rocks, too, because _why not_. Wind blasted out, he wheezed and rolled up to one elbow just in time to see Dorian's staff sweep skyward. The pyrophite blade gleamed as it tore Mouthy's throat out, reddish blade dyed brilliant crimson.

"Why is everyone in this Maker-be-damned country dead-set on making me regret every bit of self confidence I exude, hmm?" Dorian growled, wiping the blade on the robes of the man bleeding out at his feet before sheathing the staff. Mouthy was mouthing wordlessly, hands scrabbling at his ruined throat. "Am I not allowed five minutes to enjoy my superiority before I must return to justifying my existence with community service and begging forgiveness for where I come from?" He let out a disgusted noise that would have made Cassandra proud, dusting his hands on his pants. One last glare down that well-formed nose and the ‘Vint turned away from his enemy to assist his comrade.

"It’s probably all that humbleness you ooze from every pore, 'vint," Bull offered, still on the ground. Everything had gotten pretty quiet and he was in no rush, letting the last standing mage come to him. "Hmmm,” Bull went on, playing up his ‘aha’ moment, “-maybe it’s _because_ you're a 'Vint. And pretty. And a mage. Also--"

"You are _not_ helping," Dorian snapped, though there was no fire in it. "Far be it from me to assume I shouldn't need to prove my merit to the riff raff."

"Hey, at least the riff raff had a decent suggestion."

"What was that?"

"Me being your plaything." Dorian snorted ineloquently at that, dropping to kneel beside The Bull. The boisterous Altus was surprisingly gentle as he helped the Qunari sit up, glancing around to make certain no one had heard. Bull caught the red tinge of Dorian’s ears out of the corner of his eye. Hard not to laugh at him, blushing after the near-effortless murder of the rebels not minutes prior. “Nah, you’ve got playthings enough. _I_ think,” for this Bull leaned in, lips an inch from the mage’s ear. Dorian froze, “-you’d be better served to being played _with_.” To his credit Dorian only took a couple seconds to clear his throat and say:

“I can assure you a night with me is _anything_ but a game.” 

Bull’s chuckle rumbled through his chest and, from the little shudder that shivered through him, through Dorian’s, too. “Just one night? I’m disappointed, ‘Vint. I’d have thought you’d have more staying power than that.” Something in the moment faded; Bull felt it, knew the moment of tension had broken as surely as if he’d watched it shatter like glass dropped to a marble floor. When the mage spoke again the gloss in his voice was back, the shimmering sheen he used to keep people at arm’s length. 

“Yes, well, perhaps this is normal mating protocol for savage Qunari but it is not at all up to my lofty standards.” A weak retort but Dorian was busy fiddling with the wound on the Qunari’s back. From the smell an Elfroot poultice was in Bull’s immediate future. He sighed, lamenting a good opportunity lost. Still... 

“Scared of a little savagery are we?” The tease fell flat but Dorian humored him with a small chortle.

“Not hardly. However, you should know I cannot be intimidated by you when I find myself soiling my hands to heal your wounds. Wounds incurred from squishy mages, no less.”

“I’d have taken them, I was just resting.”

“...You’re bleeding all over my boots.”

“All part of the ruse. Make them think you’re helpless, then move in for the kill.” Bull hissed as the poultice found its mark and a bandage was pulled around his chest. “Ben-Hassrath, remember? We can use everything.”

“My ruined boots too, hopefully. I certainly won’t have need of them after this.”

A friendly noise drew both of their attention to the path; Evelyn and Cole were there, the former waving. Bull grinned and waved back with his good arm only to get smacked by an irate mage who was still binding his wound.

“Took care of the arseholes, eh boss?” Trevelyan smiled, looking tired but no worse for wear.

“Lots of ‘You can’t win’ and ‘blah blah the Inquisition falls here,’ you know how it is.” She stopped then, eyes widening slightly as she took in the carnage in the clearing. Scorch marks and ruined figures and one very unfortunate dead mage with his throat sliced. “Maker, what the hell happened here?” She saw the makeshift pyre for two of the mages, the burns lacing the ground that radiated out from the piles of ash. It looked every bit like lightning had rained from the heavens to smite them, jagged patterns burned black against the grass. In a way, it had. The woman’s eyes narrowed slightly even as her mouth quirked in a sideways, accusatory smirk. “Did we lose our temper, dear Dorian?” 

Cole took that moment to helpfully pipe in, kneeling beside the blackened earth. “Rebels, renegades, running ragged but raging against everyone in their way. They stopped remembering what it was like to be smothered by someone stronger.” The spirit looked at Dorian with those chilly blue eyes of his. “You stopped them. Thank you.” Bull chanced another glance sideways and was rewarded by seeing Dorian blush a second time, this time a swath of pink across his cheekbones. 

“Yes well...think nothing of it, Cole. As to my _temper_ ,” he drolled, rolling his eyes at Evelyn, “-I take exception to your insinuations, dear Herald. I am, as always, an exemplar of professional composure. The only thing incessant enough to grate on my cultured nerves is the smell of this lummox.” Evelyn glanced at Bull, who quickly assured her he was fine. With a little help from the ‘Vint and from Cole, he was back on his feet without further issue.

Gathering what they could from the rebels’ stores, the four headed back out of the clearing. Bull and Trevelyan led, comparing kill count. Dorian, distracted, wandered a ways behind, Cole bringing up the rear. The spirit hung back, fiddling with the rim of his hat. It was with a long-suffering sigh that the Tevinter mage fell into step beside him.

“...something the matter, Cole?” When the spirit replied it was in an odd tone that made Dorian’s throat go tight.

“Separated, searching. _Where did he go?_ Frantic for a moment but furious when you find them, flaunting power over a friend--no. A friend, but more,” Cole looked confused; Dorian refused to look anywhere but straight ahead, willing the two in front of them **not** to turn around. To his dismay Cole went on, “Callous against your crush, so you crush them--ashes born of anger.” A pensive pause, then: “Why don’t you tell him?” 

“ _Vishante kaffas_ , Cole, it’s not--” grey eyes met blue for a moment before turning away again. Dorian went on, quieter, “--it’s not that simple.” That was quite enough of that and the mage sped up, putting a little distance between himself and Cole. A few extra feet was not enough to make him miss the spirit’s reply, however.

“...why not?”

**Author's Note:**

> Got a request or idea for a ficlet in this series? I'd love to hear it! **points at comment box**


End file.
